


Working Out

by Metric_Mayhem



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: F/M, Gym Sex, Humor, NSFW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-20 23:27:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6029461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metric_Mayhem/pseuds/Metric_Mayhem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Emmy as his partner, Layton decides to use the college's gym for the evening for exercise. As ungentlemanly as it is, he couldn't help his gaze on her all the while. (Part of a trade!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Working Out

“Alright! Let’s hustle, Professor! Move those feet!”

The quiet, college’s gym was occupied by an energetic assistant and her tired boss for the evening. There were times he would be outmatched by someone much more physically capable, and he supposed here was no exception.

It has been a while since he fenced, and even longer since he’s been out on archeological digs. As Emmy noticed, he had some unhealthy habits since his previous case. He ate nothing but tea snacks with his favorite beverage, stayed up late, and became almost sedentary.  Luke was away with his parents, so it was up to her to get him out of the office.

Emmy was further out in front as she jogged. She blew at her whistle and offered mild encouragements every now and then to cheer him on.

He wanted to respond, at the very least show he was doing his best. However, he needed to conserve air to fill his burning lungs. With sore legs, he trudged along.

“ _My word, where does she get her energy?_ ” he thought to himself.

“You’re doing great! But let’s see some sweat, mister!” she paused her jog to beckon him over.

He scoffed inwardly. If that were the case, he could easily show his back to her. That was surely covered in enough moisture to show through his muscle shirt. He would much less like to mention his thighs. Curse his sweatpants.

Once he made his way to her, he stopped completely. Between his lungs being on fire and his sore body, he hunched over to hold on to his knees. This was it. This was his limit. The jog had to have lasted for over a couple of miles, if he had to record his laps.

A pair of legs approached him while he recovered. As he looked past the yoga pants and tank top (which was frighteningly close to his face, he noted), he found Emmy’s sympathetic eyes.

Between small pants, she asks, “How about we just take five? We can move on to the cool-down exercises after you get some water.”

His eyes glowed as if a goddess blessed him. Regained breath, Layton murmured, “Yes! Yes… thank you.”

Somehow, he managed to make his way over to the bench where an ice chest containing bottled water and sports drinks lied. The tired man nearly fell over as he sat down. He never remembered being out of breath so easily. No, he really only focused on exercising for what was necessary. Running or jogging for longer distances than normal required much more endurance than he had.

After reaching in the ice chest, he pulled out a bottle before gently shutting it again. He never realized his thirst until water finally hit his dry throat. Layton gulped down a good portion of the bottle greedily before pausing. His dark eyes scanned the area for his personal trainer. Not too far from where he sat, he found her bending down to retrieve a towel from her gym bag.

Heat built up in his cheeks as he noticed her sculpted thighs and bottom. She probably exercised much more than he did, at least in regards to running. There was an inexplicable urge to grope and run fingers along such taut, perky skin. The legs turned and suddenly his eyes met feminine hipline before quickly darting elsewhere.

My, that wasn’t gentlemanly at all. The man reprimanded himself for his rogue thoughts. He must focus at the task at hand. There were exercises that needed to be done.

Emmy stood in front of him eagerly with a towel around her neck. “Alright! Hope you had a nice breather.”

The man offered a timid nod as he stood up wearily. “Yes, I’m feeling much better now.”

“Good, then let’s get out the mats for our stretches and then we can begin.” She gestured over to the rolled up mats adjacent to the bench he sat on.

“Right.” Taking one mat under each arm, he placed each side by side.

From that moment on, there was only the hum of the florescent light fixtures and deep breathing. The two sat with their legs apart and they leaned forward as far as possible. Once again, Layton couldn’t help but glance over at his partner to see her progress. His eyes widened as he found her bent forward far enough to where her torso was to the floor. A soft moan came from her as she held that position (he shuddered soon after). She smiled and only lifted her head slightly to look at him.

“How’s this feel? Hopefully not too hard on your back…”

Feeling her gaze on him, he quickly looked forward. “No! Not at all, thank you. Though I must say, you’re quite flexible…”

Emmy chuckled. “Well, that’s from doing this sort of thing for years. You see, I tend to bend when I do flips—you know, for recovering and moving around quickly. Well-”

Suddenly, an audible pop resounded and he flinched. “Gaack!”

Just as he was opening his mouth to yelp out in pain again, she straightened herself and rose up. He felt a hand on his shoulder, another placed around his lower back. With a nudge and another “pop”, he was able to sit up straight again. However, a dull ache spread from its point of origin, making him feel uncomfortable.

“Don’t overdo it professor! You may be a bit fit, but you’re certainly not very flexible.  Just stretch out to as far as comfortable. Mmk?”

The gentle rubs of her fingers along his back almost made him melt on the spot. He held in a groan. His tense muscles relaxed, if only just a little. Those hands moved all around his back, softening his body with their firm, gentle touch. Familiar heat welled up from with him. He knew what that meant, yet he couldn’t help himself. Trapped in place, he stayed still.

Only a small mumble was his answer.

Her massage was just too nice. She was close to him, perhaps almost uncomfortably so. Sweat mixed with the smell of feminine perfume filled his nose. Each time his bones audibly popped, she cooed a bit in his ear in sympathy. Little by little, he noticed small things about her.  The more he discovered, the quicker his heart raced.

As fate would have it, he felt his pants tighten. Layton couldn’t be caught, not at that moment. Not when she was so close to him that she just might see his excitement. This was just a day at the gym between friends. Moreover, having this kind of attraction to her was rather unfair, selfish even. He was her boss; he’s already crossed boundaries by becoming friends with her. To have her see that a gentleman was withholding such feelings… She might be disgusted with him if she knew.

He couldn't bear to imagine it. It was time to leave.

Quickly, he scrambled out of her grasp and cleared his throat to recover his voice. ”I…I think we’ve done quite enough today. After all that was four rounds of different exercises in two hours.”

“Well, I suppose you can despite not finishing your stretches. I don’t want you to throw out your back or anything,” Emmy conceded.

Impatient eyes glanced in all directions, looking for a proper escape. They rested on a hallway that led to the locker rooms. Perfect. He could simply make his way there, take care of personal business and perhaps be out before she suspected anything. Or so he hoped.

“Why don’t you pack up for the evening and head home soon? I have a few things I need to take care of after I change.”

“Can’t I help you? I am your assistant after all,” she reached to touch his shoulder and attempted to turn him around to face her. But as he felt her grasp, his body shivered as if touched by ice. He pulled away from her.

Heat finally reached his face and he felt sensitive, self-aware. Every touch she gave, his will crumbled.

“That’s fine, I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a pleasant evening, Emmy,” his words were robotic and hurried.

Having excused himself, he trotted out of sight and into the comfort of the locker room. Not a soul was around, thank goodness. Finally, a moment of solitude. A place to relax.

Admittedly, he found it hard to do so. Hershel cringed at the mental pun. On cue, he felt his underwear tighten even further around his hips. The situation would only get worse from here, he imagined.

There were two options: either search the place for a shower, or take care of it himself.

The first option had to be the best choice. What better way to rid oneself of their heated notions than a cold shower? Plus, he would feel cleaner and fresher.

One by one, he removed articles of his gym clothes. It was remarkable how much sweat can be captured at once. He couldn’t think of how musky they would smell, or perhaps he would rather not. The thought was trivial at best.

Underwear slipped down his thighs, landing to his ankles. Oh, how good that cool air felt against him. Curious, he casted a look downward as well. His throat suddenly felt dry again. It was becoming increasingly obvious he needed relief. His member was at its hardest, glowing red with impatience and carnal desire.

There was no flesh, no warmth to be given. No Emmy.

That final thought lingered in his mind. Emmy. She caused this to happen. He lost his composure over her. Why? Was it just his adrenaline from all the exercises? Or was it her in particular? Perhaps her vivacious personality? Her body?

He remembered that he stared at Emmy for almost the entire session with her, or rather, tried to keep his eyes off of her to no avail. A difficult task, considering he needed eye contact for some of the exercises. All the close contact with her stirred him to be this animalistic creature.

No matter; his current condition must be solved at once. Bare feet slapped against the tiled floor as he tore through the locker room in his search for a shower. Luckily, he found shower stalls due north.

He quickly stepped in, not caring to close the small door behind him. Nervous hands fumbled at the knobs, turning the cold up high. No water came from the shower head. Undeterred, Layton was on to the next stall, turning on its faucets to see the same result.

In several minutes of scrambling around and trying each shower head, he came to the same conclusion. None of them worked. It wasn’t until he found a small piece of paper taped to a wall that he read, “Showers Out of Order”. He growled in frustration and his hands held at the hairs on his head. This was ridiculous! Utterly preposterous! Surely this place would at least have _functioning_ showers.

His devolving thoughts couldn’t think of another solution. He’ll just have to do “that”. If he delved into such coarse thoughts, it was time to find a suitable place to sit…

Defeated, he headed back to the locker room and checked again for any visitors. He took a seat on a bench next to his things and closed his eyes. Where to begin? As soon as Emmy made herself present in his mind, he felt his heart beat out of his chest again. Her fingers danced along his back, making it feel so spine-tingling real.

Those hands deviated, moving their way to his front and downward. As he took hold of his shaft, he imagined her holding him as well. From there, he couldn’t control his breaths nor his hand. Visions of fantasy merged with reality. Using his free hand, he covered his mouth before he could groan. While stifled, it wasn’t effective enough to stop it from being too loud.

From there, muffled talking came from outside, unheard by the man. Footsteps took its place, getting louder and louder until he finally noticed. Not a second later and he saw a ghost of brown hair as he tensed up in place.

“P-Professor?” questioned a familiar, feminine voice.

The previous thought of Emmy was ripped from his mind, being replaced with a confused Emmy that walked in front of him.

Dark eyes widened to meet her chocolate ones, giving a “deer-in-the-headlights look.”

Shame and fear filled him as he saw her gaze look lower for less than a moment.

“I wanted to check on you, since you were acting oddly the whole day. …But I see you’ve been busy,” her expression was blank, listless.

Instinctively, he wanted to say something along the lines of ‘It’s not what you think.’ But it was much too late. She saw that he still grasped his throbbing cock, on full display. Even at that moment, her eyes darted back from his face to that very spot, as she witnessed clear fluids dripping from the head.

Emmy couldn’t help but smile, albeit an awkward smirk. “I guess that workout had you overheated?”

He couldn’t gather any dignity, or composure for a proper response other than a nearly hoarse “More or less.”

“I know it may seem rather inappropriate to say, but it _is_ healthy to experience these urges at your age.”

Layton only shuddered in apprehension. What on earth did she say?

Her teeth bit her bottom lip as she made a proposition he couldn’t refuse. “If you want… I could help you out. After all, it’s much more of a satisfying exercise that way. It comes with a lot of results too.”

Without much thought, he shuffled close to her, enough to grab her shoulders and gently pin her into one of the lockers. She saw the desperate, hungry look in his eyes. There was no denying it, he really worked himself up over her.

He tilted his head to give her small kisses on the cheek that moved closer to her lips. It impeded her thoughts, but she was more than happy to return love to such an eager man. Their bodies moved closer to touch, and she felt him shiver. He rubbed his bare hips against hers, adoring the fabric of her clothes. One thing was certain, those had to be removed.

Wanting hands began pulling up her top. Just before they reached over her head, he momentarily looked back to her for reassurance. Her reply was through a grab at his length, gently stroking along the very tip. Following her cue, he pulled off what covered her torso. She was so soft, and her skin porcelain despite her athletic activities. He could only nuzzle into her for a moment, too far gone in his desire for her.

The pants and underwear were torn asunder, much to Emmy’s chagrin. Her complaints over her ruined clothes fell on deaf ears as he ground against her. She supposed she could let it go; for the moment. Once he made his way into her, the thought diffused altogether.

He let out a small groan. Euphoric feelings enveloped him as her walls slowly stretched to fit him. It constricted around his hardened mass, holding on tight. Never before has he felt so satiated. It was a while before he moved, goaded on by Emmy’s touch. The locker behind them emitted a clanging sound as their hips connected.

No, no. This would not do. It was much too loud and had the chance of attracting anyone nearby. She might also get uncomfortable from leaning against the locker for too long. A much suitable position was in order.

“Stop,” he barely breathed.

She looked to him, dazed and confused.

For a moment, he pulled away from her. “It’s getting too loud. Bend over onto the bench here.”

Static filled the air as they reunited in their new position. Emmy felt her mind turn to mush after they found their rhythm again. As he filled her, a familiar tension built up from within. Her hands could barely grip the bench when she found her end. Waves of ecstasy washed over her down to where her legs wobbled as she stood.

Layton’s own climax was just behind hers. All adrenaline in him vanished, slowing time to a creeping lull. He finally found his breath, from his heart beating out of control. It was hard to tell rather if he was much more discreet with the noises of their climax to be so…audible.

His fogged mind cleared as soon as the rush was over. He finally pulled away from her, watching the streams of his essence spill down her legs. Momentarily, his partner rose up, ending his view of her.

It was cute the way she stumbled around in search of her clothes, he thought to himself. He decided it was a good time then to get dressed himself. Never mind his thoughts going from appreciation of her to overwhelming guilt from weighing the consequences.

An aggressive tap reached his shoulder after he pulled out his change of clothes.

He was met with a flushed, pouting face.

“Were you… satisfied?” he meekly asked.

“Professor, don’t you _dare_ try to change the topic now.” In her hands, she held what were once pants.

“Change the topic? I don’t quite understand—”

“How am I supposed to go home when you destroyed these?” She lifted them up into his face, like to a displeased owner chastising their dog.

Earlier recollection returned to him. His look of realization turned into one of shyness and guilt. “I… I’m terribly sorry about that. I suppose I was little too excited.”

“I _came_ here in these and I don’t have any spare shorts!”

The brief thought of her riding her scooter with only her shirt came to mind. He shook it off, not wanting to get himself riled up in front of her. “I’m sure there’s some way I can make up for that.”

“Oh? Does that mean you’re giving me your pants instead?”

“Y-Yes of course! Anything for such an inexcusable oversight,” he scrambled to give her his tracksuit pants. “Again, terribly sorry.”

He counted his lucky stars that he always came prepared. Otherwise, that would have made the most embarrassing walk to his car that day.


End file.
